Betrayal
by Smothered Light
Summary: He thinks that his own problems are more acute than those of anyone else. But then he finds her... and he can help her. But doing so would put everything he has left on the line... can they bring themselves to trust one another?
1. One

******A/N I have never written anything so angsty or so dark before.  Thank depression for it, I suppose.  Please R/R, but not to tell me I have problems… compared to those I find myself writing about, my own are petty indeed.  If you want the next chapter, I shall upload it.**

_Again_, he thought dully, staring into the glass in his hand, _I've been betrayed._  He wanted nothing more than to drink the liquid in the glass, the strong scent of brandy overpowering the subtler scent of that with which it was mixed.  _One drink_, a voice in his mind whispered seductively.  _Just one drink_, _and it's over_.  He had promised, years ago, that he would never end his life. He had promised, sworn, given his word.  _Then again_, he thought bitterly, _nobody else keeps promises around here_.  Severus Snape was a man of his word, a word that was mistrusted and believed to be worth little, admittedly, but not through any fault of his own.  He had never repeated a secret, and never broken a promise.  Spying had involved deceit and trickery, yes.  But throughout the darkness of the years he wanted to forget forever (and drinking the contents of the glass would certainly achieve that), he had never once sworn to do something and not done it.  

He had agreed to actions he knew he would never take, lied about more things than he could count, but when asked to swear he was telling the truth, he had always told it.  A backwards form of honesty, and a strange code of morals to live one's life on undoubtedly, but he had _never _betrayed a sword secret.  

Sirius Black had broken his oath – never to tell a soul about the day he had set Remus-the-werewolf on Snape.  Remus had broken his own oath, the oath he had taken to never reveal Snape's drunken secrets to another soul.  Those had both hurt him, yes, but nothing had hurt so much as this final betrayal.  Albus Dumbledore.

The headmaster had sworn, when he had learnt of Severus's curse, to never tell a living soul.  He had sworn to help Severus in all ways he could, and to never reveal the secret, his affliction, to anybody as long as Snape lived.  Now, only three months after the final defeat of Voldemort, the entire staff knew.  The glass of poison had never looked so appealing.  But in drinking it he would be betraying his own oath, and oath he had admittedly taken under duress, but a sworn promise nonetheless.  With a snarl he threw the glass into the fireplace, where it shattered and the liquid inside it exploded.

The rest of the world might well do so, but Severus Snape would break no promise.


	2. Two

A/N And here's the next part, rather more angsty than the first, but that's how it goes. The R rating is definitely deserved now, but it's not (and never will be) an NC-17 called R. If you want that, may I suggest adultfanfiction, or lordandladysnape.  Thanks to Lucyferina, for being my first reviewer!  I hope it stays interesting… 

She stood at the top of the tower.  It was cold, and she was alone.  The wind lashed out at her, causing the scanty clothes on her far-too-thin body to whip around her, chafing skin already raw, chapping lips already bleeding, and causing tears to spring to eyes that were far too familiar with the sensation.  She contemplated the landscape, barely noticing the wind or the chill.  It looked so calm, so soothing, and so completely alien to anything she had felt so far.

Coming to Hogwarts had been a blessing, an escape from her life.  Away from the mother who stared at her only child with empty eyes, blank devoid of all emotion, all human tenderness beaten out of her.  Away from her father, the man responsible for her cowed mother, the man responsible for her own depressing childhood.  A drunken haze in his eyes, and a permanent angry scowl on his face.  As if the physical trauma had not been enough – the repeated beatings, frequent sporadic slaps and scratches, his sadistic enjoyment he found in watching her scream – he added emotional abuse to his already lengthy forays into the physical.  If she did not return home for the holidays, he would kill her mother.  

Hermione did not love the woman – if anything, there was a guilt for not loving her, and a detached sort of pity.  But she could not have the murder on her own head, could not face the blood on her own hands if her father made true his promise to kill her mother.  And so she returned with each holiday, outwardly smiling, outwardly carefree.  And at school, buried herself in the mask she put on - bossy, intelligent, and self-assured.  

She had friends; two of them, who saw her as an encyclopaedia on legs, an easy, low-maintenance source of homework help.  She clung to the relationship, the only contact she had with friendship and love that everybody else seemed to take for granted.  

The wind struck more fiercely, howling now, pushing her closer to the edge of the tower with its might.  She gazed out longingly.  If only she were to climb the step.  Three feet, and then she could allow the wind to push her wherever it pleased, and sink into oblivion.  Painless.  That thought was so enticing.  To be eternally free of pain, physical and emotional, to melt into the dark void of nothingness, would be ecstasy.  

Then she felt the all too familiar icy fingers curl around her neck, drawing her back from the edge of the promising fall, fingers that could not be mistaken for the wind, tightening their grip, scratching and bruising the already tender skin beneath them.  

"It looks tempting, doesn't it?" His cold voice asked.  "So very tempting.  You won't make that jump, slut.  Not while I have use for you yet," and he laughed, a cold, mirthless laugh that reminded her so much of her father.  And the pain that always went with her father's presence returned, and ripping of her clothes – the one abuse her father had not indulged in - taken out on her now.  She wanted to scream, felt the sound rising up in her throat, and then the sharp slap on her face that told her she had not done well enough in hiding the desire to defend herself.

"You know the penalty, bitch.  This is my payment, for keeping your mother out of the hands of my father."  It was always the same threat – the life of her mother, the woman she did not love, did not even know, but could not afford to let go, could not deal with the guilt of knowing she had murdered her own mother… the woman who had once shown her kindness.  The pictures proved that, if her own memory could not.  Her real mother was long dead, killed by her father, leaving only a shell with dark eyes remaining.  She could not have that blood on her hands.  

"You know your place, Granger," he snarled, slapping her again and smirking at her wince.  "I have but to say the word to my father, and your parents will both be dead."  And she winced as Draco Malfoy laughed.


	3. Three

The poison destroyed in the fireplace and, with it, any hope of peace tonight, Severus Snape suddenly found his rooms claustrophobic.  He needed to get out, out into the fresh air where he could breathe, where he could escape the confines of the school and the memory of Dumbledore mentioning so casually his affliction, the memory of the staff drawing back, aghast and terrified.  

He stood abruptly and left his rooms in a swirl of robes, suddenly anxious to get out of them, and of the building.  He left as fast as he could without actually running, making full use of passages and secret doors.  And then he was outside, in the cool night air, with the stars above him.  He revelled in the feeling, the anonymity the darkness provided, and just stood, absorbing the night.  

"Who's there?" came a voice, interrupting his quiet solace, and he recognised it to be Hagrid.  Snape flinched, and drew his robes about him.

"Am I not allowed outside anymore?" Snape asked coolly.  "Have restrictions been placed on my movements now that everyone is aware of my… condition?"  His voice did not hide his bitterness well, he realised, after the words had left his mouth.  His self-control seemed to be cracking.  He could not bring himself to care.

"O' course you are, Professor.  In fact, I'd been meaning t'ask you how you're doing.  I mean, it must've been terrible, what with the-"

"Indeed, Hagrid."  Trust the man to have a morbid curiosity; his obsession with all creatures dangerous and deadly seemed to have extended to Snape.  "I must be off."  He turned and stalked back inside, fully conscious of the look of pity mingled with fascination in the man's eyes.  Was he to be an exhibit, now, free for all to gawk at?

He was back inside again, and the feeling of claustrophobia returned twofold.  He needed to get back outside, to find some peace where he was not reminded at every turn of Albus Dumbledore, and the betrayal of a man he had once considered his only friend.  But Hagrid was outside… the only suitable place, it seemed, was one of the towers. 

The astronomy tower would have been ideal, he thought wistfully, but he would undoubtedly find students out of bed up there, and he did not think he was capable of constructing the necessary façade of Professor Snape to scare them off and threaten them with loss of house points and detentions.  One of the smaller towers, then.  Slytherin it would be.

And at the top of Slytherin tower, unaware of his professor approaching, Draco Malfoy cast Hermione Granger aside.  With a sneer he stalked off, leaving her shivering, tears streaming down her face.


	4. Four

**A/N For the sake of literary something, I'm going to make this chapter in Snape's PoV again, just because it's easier that way.  Sorry to disrupt the pattern.  This is longer than the last few, but still quite short – I've discovered I like the freedom of frequent short chapters.  **

To KdarkMaiden, I'm trying to update this relatively often, but in order to do that I'm keeping the chapters short… otherwise I have a habit of writing 10 page chapters but waiting months between updates.

To AngiePen, thank you, very much.  There's rather a lot to say here, so I'll do that in an email instead of making this longer than the story itself.  :D

Enjoy, and review!

Snape stepped out onto the balcony at the top of the tower.  He had, thankfully, seen nobody on his way up from the entrance hall, and as he stood in the open air of the tower, he felt the calming influence of the silence of the night.  Up here, there was no buzzing of insects, no rustling of nocturnal animals, and no unwelcome intrusions by members of staff.  Snape allowed himself to relax completely, staring up at the stars so far away.  

He tried to let the night absorb him, to become a part of the darkness, to let it swallow him whole.  And then he heard a sound, distracting him once more from his reverie; it was a wet sniff, coming from somewhere to his right.  He turned, about to give the most blistering lecture of his lifetime, furious at being disturbed twice in the one night when all he wanted was isolation.  The words died on his lips as he saw a person, three-quarters naked, shivering on the stone floor.  

Snape, ever cautious, withdrew his wand as he approached the person.  As he drew closer he realised that she was female, and crying.  Even by the starlight he could see the recent scratches and forming bruises on her, and only his long experience in hiding his emotions could prevent him from showing his shock.  How could there have been an attack at the school?  Voldemort was dead; his supporters were under surveillance and did not dare to sneeze, let alone attack a student at Hogwarts.

Snape moved closer, to discover her identity, and recognised her with a gasp.  Hermione Granger was shivering, badly beaten up and apparently raped, lying on the top of Slytherin Tower, her clothes reduced to rags.  

"Miss Granger," he said softly, unsure of what to say but completely certain that snapping and deducting housepoints would not be a good idea.

She jumped, startled and terrified, and looked at him with undisguised fear.  Her face, he noticed, was free from abrasions – whoever had done this to her had intended for her to hide it, he assumed, by her school robes.  Which meant that this could potentially have been going on for a very long time.

"Please," she whispered.  "Please… not again… not more tonight.  I… I can't…" and she started sobbing again.

"Miss Granger," he started again, confused but increasingly worried by the minute.  "You need to go to the hospital wing."

She had been staring through him until now with unfocussed eyes, but suddenly she looked straight at him.

"No…" she moaned.  "Please… nobody can find out… he'll tell."

"Who will tell, Miss Granger?" he asked her.  She didn't seem to want to answer, but began to cry in earnest.  With a sigh he sat down beside her and returned his wand in his sleeve.  "Miss Granger, what has happened to you?" he asked, this time with a sense of urgency.  Her injuries were not life threatening as far as he could see, but there could easily be more serious wounds on her.

Again, she only cried harder.  She was still shivering, and he realised that she must be freezing.  Still unsure of what to do, but reluctant to take her to the hospital wing for more than one reason (his own recent experience with Poppy Pomfrey not the least of them), he removed his cloak and awkwardly spread it over her.  She grasped it instinctively and then pulled it around her.  

"I'll be fine," she whispered through her tears.  "I just… I just can't… I need time…"

"Time for what?" he asked, again gently.  "You need treatment of some sort, and if you stay here any longer you'll risk hypothermia."

"Don't take me to the hospital wing," she said in a rush.  "Don't take me.  I'll do… anything.  What do you want?  I'll do anything."

Suddenly cold, he realised exactly what she was offering.  "Miss Granger," he said.  "I have no intention of-" he broke off suddenly, realising that her offer came from desperation, not out of insult to his integrity.  "You need treatment," he repeated firmly.  "If not the hospital wing, I shall take you back to my rooms.  And then you _will_ tell me what happened."

His authoritative tone of voice, gentle but firm, brought out a reaction that his previous uncertainty had not.  "Yes."  

He pulled her to her feet, but they gave way underneath her.  Frowning, he picked her up easily – she was far too light – and held her as one would an infant, keeping his wand in his right hand to cast the _lumos _that illuminated his path.


	5. Five

******A/N Thanks to everyone who's reviewed… what started out as an idea and a lot of angst has turned into an actual story, but I feel like it's writing me, instead of the other way around.  What'll happen next?  And yes, I do know what Snape's problem is, but I think I'll drop hints for a couple of chapters instead of actually spelling it out.  First to guess correctly gets… a congratulatory email?  No, better yet, a choice between the angsty ending I've been planning and the equally possible happy ending.  Enjoy!**

Snape was carrying her somewhere, she realised through the fog that seemed to be occupying her brain.  Why was he doing that?  She would be fine.  She only needed time.  Just half an hour, and she would be able to shove the pain away, to construct the mask that hid her from the rest of the world.  She could have fixed her robes with magic, she could have concealed the damage, and she could have been once again the bossy, studious Hermione Granger that everyone knew so well.  But he was taking her somewhere, and she had no time to heal.  Did he want what Malfoy had wanted?  But he had said no on the rooftop.  Hadn't he?  Or was she seeing things again?  What was real and what was unreal merged in her head.  She was just so tired… 

Something was being put to her lips.  She drank reflexively as the liquid touched her mouth, and the taste itself was foul enough to wake her.  Why did medicinal potions always taste so bad?  But the fog was clearing, and her brain felt less like cotton wool.  Suddenly she noticed just how cold she was, and the pain that had been numbed by shock and exhaustion came back in a rush, the aching pain that was always plaguing her and new, fresh, sharp, shooting pains in her arms, her leg, her stomach, everywhere.  

"Good," Snape said softly.  "And now this, I think."  He pressed a cup to her lips once more.  

She ignored it and looked up at him, suddenly aware of her surroundings.  "Professor Snape," she said.

"Yes.  Your ability to state the obvious in undiminished," he told her wryly, but his voice did not hold its usual sting.  He looked as tired as she felt.  What did he want with her?  "Now _drink_."

Hermione obediently did so, and the pain lessened somewhat.  Or it didn't lessen, but it wasn't so important.  She could cope with it now, whereas before it had been unbearable.  

"That is the shock and the pain dealt with.  You shall have a third potion before you sleep tonight, which ought to heal all abrasions.  You have no broken bones?"

"No… not this time," she replied, unthinkingly.  Then she tensed up.  He now knew that she had received broken bones before.  Did he know about Malfoy?  About her father?  Would he, too, blackmail her?  Or would he take the information to Dumbledore?  But then Dumbledore would expel Malfoy and Malfoy would tell his father and he would kill her mother and everything would have been lost and her mother would be dead and all of this would have been in vain and…

Snape took one look at her face and slapped her.  "You were getting hysterical," he informed her.  Then his face softened a little.  "I should not be adding more emotional trauma to that which you already have.  Perhaps we should talk in the morning?  I can give you a sleeping draught now."

Hermione nodded gratefully.  She needed a break.  And time to decide exactly what to tell Professor Snape. – or what he would want in order to keep his silence.   Her mask was firmly back in place once more.  As long as she did not dwell on the memories, she would be fine.  Then he was steering her to a guest room and giving her another potion.  She drank it all without hesitating.  If only it were poison…


	6. Six

Snape awoke in the morning and lay, staring at the ceiling as the previous day's events came back to him and arranged themselves in his mind.  Dumbledore had told the staff.  With what he had himself done to Lupin, he had better be very wary of them in case they decided to give him a taste of his own medicine.  And then there was Hermione Granger, probably still asleep in his guest room.

What would be the best way to get the information out of her without hurting her any more than she had been already?  She must be an extremely strong girl, he mused, to be able to hide her emotions and injuries daily when things like this happened to her regularly.  And they must happen regularly, because the look in her eyes had been broken, but also resigned.  He shivered.  Nobody deserved to look like that, especially not a teenaged girl.  Yes, he would certainly find out who had done this to her.  

Snape got out of bed and crept through his still dark rooms to the guest room.  The door was open a crack, and he peered through it.  She seemed to be in the bed, asleep, so he decided to let her rest.  Well, there was also that he wanted to be fully ready for the day when she awoke – greeting her with tousled hair and a mind still foggy from sleep was not ideal.  So he showered, dressed, and ordered breakfast before settling down to read a book until she awoke.

Hermione emerged from the room an hour later, looking sleepy but otherwise her normal self.  He was surprised; after last night he would have thought that she would at least be wary of him… of everybody.  Taking a closer look, she seemed to have miraculously healed overnight – that or she had taught herself a lot about mediwizardry.  He would bet on the latter.

"Good morning, Miss Granger," he told her.  "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine, thank you, Professor," she replied softly.  Perhaps she wasn't back to her normal self, then, but very good at appearing to be so.  "Is there a bathroom here?"

"Second door on the right.  If you would like a shower there are clean towels in there.  If you clap your hands twice a house elf will appear, and will collect spare clothes for you."

"Yes, sir.  Thank you."  She disappeared into the bathroom.  She was definitely not much better this morning, although she looked to be fine physically.  His potions and her own skills appeared to have taken care of the minor injuries, and the more painful ones had all been in areas not seen under her robes.  She was brave; he would not dismiss her so thoughtlessly in future.  

His gaze fell upon the fireplace, with the shattered glass lying among the soot.  For a moment he considered brewing another cauldron, anything to relieve himself of the persecution he would be subjected to should the staff reveal his secret.  But he took hold of himself once more.  The ingredients were far too expensive… and he had promised Dumbledore that he would live a normal lifespan, and not take his own life before nature had taken the last life of his peers.  Clever wording on the headmaster's part, he thought sourly.  Otherwise he would have been freed with the deaths of Lily and James Potter.  He scowled, not liking the route his thoughts were taking.  

He had to be alert in dealing with Hermione.  And tactful – a feat which would take quite a lot of effort on his part.  Tact did not come easily to him.  But the other way would damage her more than she had already been hurt.  Whatever had been done with her needed to be dealt with, and if he alienated her further she would tell him nothing.  Getting her to tell him anything would be hard enough.  He sighed.  He could already feel the headache coming on.  


	7. Seven

**A/N this is another very short chapter, but that's the reason it's posted.  I've been _really _busy lately, and the fact that I'm updating at all is pretty amazing.  As is, there might be another short chapter out by next Saturday night… I know it's a long time, and I'll try my best to do something before then, but no promises.  For now, R/R!**

Hermione undressed slowly, and stepped into the shower. She tried to recall yesterday's events in exact detail.  She had made a mistake last night, had taken longer than she ought to have done to dissemble.  She needed to play everything down in front of Snape when he asked the inevitable questions, because if he were to find out then quite possibly everything would be over.

What had happened, exactly?  She had met Malfoy on top of Slytherin Tower, where he had done his usual.  As was normal, he had threatened her with the deaths of her parents.  Of course, he did not realise that she actually _wanted _her father dead, but her mother was another story.  She smiled bitterly – she didn't even like the woman, not anymore, and yet this was what had become of her life because of her mother.  

So Malfoy had raped her and beaten her more than he usually had.  Then he had left, and Snape had arrived almost immediately.  He hadn't wanted… what she had offered in exchange for secrecy, but had seemed quite concerned for her.  Very out of character, but perhaps there really was more to him than his teacher persona.  There was much more to her than met the eye, too.  Hermione knew better than to judge by appearances.  That lesson had been learnt the hard way.

Snape had taken her back to his rooms afterwards, and given her a couple of potions to accelerate her healing.  She was thankful for these, because the healing she knew was time-consuming and tiring.  At least with the potion she needed to do much less healing of herself.  Why had he done all of this?

The sudden thought made her freeze.  Why had he respected her wishes and not taken her to the hospital wing?  Why give her potions and privacy instead, and allowed her to wait overnight to explain.  Dumbledore would have demanded instant answer, and Pomfrey would have fussed until Hermione either broke down or was driven insane.  Snape had just offered quiet and subtle comfort, not rushed her, and helped her in the way he knew best without pressuring her into anything.  

Could he perhaps be a spy, working with Draco Malfoy, or even Lucius Malfoy, to see how much Hermione would reveal?  She would have to be very careful indeed.  In her experience, few people did things without motives.  And, superficial appearances or not, she could not see Snape voluntarily picking up a student he hated and tending to her in his own rooms.  Something was going on.  She would have to be careful.  


	8. Eight

**A/N  These short chapters are beginning to get on my nerves… but if I write longer ones it'll take me ages between posting. Hmm…**

Snape was still reading when Hermione emerged ten minutes later.  Women, in his experience, generally took at least another twenty minutes to get ready, so he was slightly unprepared when she came out so soon.  She looked like she always did – always had, save for last night.  He half expected her to ask a question, or to say something suitably Gryffindor and inane to cover the awkwardness of the situation.  Instead, and surprisingly out of character for her, he thought, she just stood silently, not moving at all.  

Even after two minutes of his gaze she did not fidget, and it was this that made Snape realise that the girl in front of him was not the same girl who plagued him daily in class.  Rather, that girl was a part of an elaborate act that she had created, designed to cover things that nobody would ever dream she was hiding.  She probably did not know how to act, now that he had seen through her mask.  If the situations were reversed, he would probably be acting the same was as she.  The irony of the situation was not lost on him.

"I assume you found everything to your satisfaction, Miss Granger?" he asked of her, an eyebrow raised.

"I did, Professor."

"Very well.  I have ordered breakfast, and it shall arrive presently.  In the meantime, I suggest you seat yourself."

"Thank you, Professor."  She did sit down, clumsily on a seat opposite Snape.  She wanted to confront him, then.  Despite the utter stillness of her body after she sat, her hands were wringing themselves in her lap.  She followed his gaze and stilled her hands immediately, but he had caught the lapse and saw a glimpse of what she was trying to a hide.  She would make a good spy, he thought ruefully.  She was almost as good as hiding emotions as he, and so much younger.  

The house elves, as usual, had impeccable timing, for the breakfast arrived on trays just then.  "Help yourself," Snape told her curtly.  "We will speak after we eat."

They ate then, a full breakfast of eggs, bacon, and toast that the house elves had cooked to perfection.  Breakfast ordered from the elves was generally superior to that which one ordered in the Great Hall, Snape had found out, and this was the reason he rarely made morning appearances.  That was the reason he gave to the other staff, at any rate.  His real reasons came more from antisocial tendencies than culinary appreciation.  

Snape finished, and noticed that Hermione was still eating slowly.  Prolonging the inevitable, he decided coolly, and then said as much, not unkindly.  Not kindly either, though.  He rather thought that any more "kindness" on his part might result with Hermione believing she was hallucinating.  

"Perhaps so, Professor," Hermione admitted.  "I want to thank you for bringing me here last night, and not to the hospital wing.  This is a matter I wish to deal with myself, and don't want the Headmaster or the nurse involved in."

_Or me, I'll warrant_, Snape thought wryly.  


	9. Nine

A/N I'm changing the format on all of you once more; this chapter is in Snape's POV again.  I believe I dubbed it "literary something" last time, and that term's as good as any.  It's either this or write a pointless filler chapter, and I'm already beginning to feel that these chapters have nothing in them.  

"You wish for secrecy.  I will make no promises until I have heard the story – the full story."

Hermione was fiddling with the handle of her teacup.  She looked up, and he saw desperation in her eyes.  "Professor… I _can't_-"

"You can," he interrupted smoothly, "and you will.  Now, if you please."  Voice softening, he added, "I know how hard it must be, but I have a duty as a teacher to protect my students.  If I think secrecy can be maintained, then it will be so."

Hermione took a deep, shaky breath.  She was holding her teacup so hard that her knuckles were white.  "I… was walking after curfew, Professor, and I-"

He interrupted her again, "If you even _consider _saying 'you fell' then you seriously undermine my intelligence.  I do not want to administer Veritaserum."  She still looked desperate, but scared now too.  Snape sighed.  This was not turning out well.  "Very well.  I will ask you questions, and you will answer them truthfully.  If I think you are lying I _will _take this to the headmaster."

"Yes, sir," she replied meekly.  

"Why were you on Slytherin Tower last night?"

Hermione slowly put down the teacup, and sat up straight.  "I was sent an owl," she replied slowly, "requesting my presence."

"Who sent you this owl?"

"A student."

"Which student?" Snape asked, becoming frustrated.

"Please…" she said. "He threatened… I really can't tell you…"

Snape sighed heavily.  "What did he threaten?"

"My mother."

"Why would he threaten your mother?"

"He can hurt her.  He says he'll hurt her if I don't do as he says."

"How can a student hurt your mother?" Snape asked gently.  

"He can't," she told him, "but his father can.  His father used to be a Deatheater."

Snape's lips tightened.  "Why did he want you to come to the tower?" 

"Sex," she told him flatly.  

"And he hurt you too?" 

"Yes."

"How did he hurt you?"  It was like wringing water from a stone, Snape reflected, but at the same time he could fully understand her reluctance.  Whoever had done this to her deserved to go to Azkaban.  He deserved to go to Azkaban for a long time.

"He… just hurts me."  She suddenly scowled at the teacup that she had picked up again.  "He likes the power," she said suddenly.  "He likes having power over me, being able to tell me what to do, to throw me around!  He's enjoyed it, ever since he found out about Dad!  School was my only escape, and then he-"  she broke off, and suddenly she was crying.  She did not sob, did not move, but sat there silently, tears running down her face.  Her mask was gone, and Snape saw the side of her that she kept hidden from everyone. 

The image of Hermione Granger, sitting on his couch, with tears of desperation and despair streaming down her face, would haunt him for years to come.

"Please," she asked desperately, "please, can I go now?"

Suddenly weary, Snape nodded his head.  "You may."

"You won't… tell anyone?"

"I will not, Miss Granger, provided that you come back either tomorrow or Tuesday and finish answering my questions."

"I…"

"Promise you will do so, Miss Granger," he told her, steel in his voice.

"Yes, sir," she whispered.  And then, tears still in her eyes, she met his and said, "thank you."  Then she fled.


	10. Ten

A/N Longer chapter than normal.  I know it doesn't make up for the long wait, but it'll have to do.  I'll probably write more this weekend, but anything more than weekly updates is completely out the window… for the next month or so, at any rate.

Hermione ran from his room, tears streaming down her face.  She met nobody before she reached the dungeon toilets, a fact for which she was grateful.  She splashed her face with water, and stared at her reflection in the mirror.  No tears anymore, but her face was red and blotchy, an obvious sign that she had recently been crying.  Her hair was a mess, probably because she had been running all over the school.  There were deep bags under her eyes, which themselves looked haunted.  She sighed heavily.  No amount of acting would explain this away, and, with the way she presently felt, she did not know if she would even be capable of putting the mask back on.  Snape had torn her carefully constructed façade to shreds.  

She slowly began to recreate the person the world assumed her to be.  With a hairbrush and makeup she managed to conceal the worst of the physical evidence of despair on her face.  Then, hating herself for it, she levelled her wand at her face and spoke a cheering charm.  Immediately, she felt happy.  Cheerful.  She grinned.  Life did not get any better than this.  And, buried deep inside, her subconscious screamed at her for her weakness.  

"Where have you been, Hermione?" Harry asked, looking up from his chess game with Ron.  "You're almost never up this late!"  

"I went to the library," she responded happily.  "I got some work done."

"You and work," Ron said, rolling his eyes.  "Do you ever think of anything else?" he asked, smiling indulgently.  "Come on, Harry.  You're losing and you're not going to distract me this time."

She spent the morning reading in an armchair by the fire while Ron soundly beat Harry and chess and then proceeded to do the same with Exploding Snap and Gobstones.  By lunchtime, Hermione's induced euphoria had faded off so she excused herself, ostensibly to go to the bathroom, and put on another cheering charm.  She would see Malfoy in the Hall, and did not want to break down in front of everyone.  Her nerves were becoming less stable with each day, and after last night and this morning Hermione felt emotionally exhausted.

Harry and Ron kept up a lively Quidditch discussion on the way down to lunch, one that Hermione tuned out of.  Presently happy or not, Quidditch held absolutely no interest for her.  Before they could reach the Hall, Malfoy stepped out in front of the trio, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.  "Potter, Weasley," he sneered in acknowledgement.  "I want a word with your mudblood girlfriend.  Kindly piss off while I talk to her."

"If you think-" Ron began, but Harry put a warning hand on his arm.

"What do you want with her, Malfoy?" he asked dangerously.  

"None of your business, Potter," Malfoy snarled in response.  

"She doesn't want to talk to you!" Ron spat.

"Yes she does," Malfoy replied coolly.  "Don't you, mudblood?"

"_Stop _calling her that!" Ron shouted, a dull red tinge coming into his cheeks.  

"And you'll do what, exactly, to stop me?" asked Malfoy, smugly raising an eyebrow.  "Come!" he commanded to Hermione.  

With a helpless shrug, she obeyed, sending Ron and Harry reassuring smiles.  For some reason, she was smiling happily.  Her emotions did not seem to want to recognise the severity of the situation.  Neither, it seemed, did her legs, because they followed Malfoy out of the entrance hall, while Ron and Harry seemed to decide, from her smile, that she would be okay, and went into the Great Hall for lunch.

Malfoy had a strong grip on her wrist as he pulled her from the room.  His grip turned bruising as he led her through the corridors and down into the dungeons.  Terror, fear, and hysteria were slowly overcoming the power of the cheering charm, and at last she began to struggle.

"Stop it," Malfoy hissed.  "Otherwise I shall ask Crabbe and Goyle to carry you."

At that, stopped struggling.  It was futile and pointless anyway – he had her under his thumb, and knew it.  What did he want with her, though?  Had he not had his fill of her last night?  He generally waited a week between the evenings he… saw her.  Had she done something wrong?  Had he… and hysteria suddenly became almost too much to bear as she thought it… had he carried out his threats against her mother?  Had he found out what she had said to Snape, and killed her parents for it?

As if on cue, the sweeping figure of Snape suddenly appeared before them.  "Mister Malfoy, Mister Crabbe, Mister Goyle.  I would have thought you would have been at lunch, not consorting with Miss Granger.  It appears that your grip is hurting her arm, Mister Malfoy.  Release her," he said smoothly.

Malfoy did so.  "I was just coming down here to find some privacy, sir," he told Snape smoothly.  "I wanted to ask Hermione a question, and we were just finding a place… where we could be _alone_," he replied with a smirk.

"Really?  Well, with your friends following you it is unlikely that you will find privacy for yourself and Miss Granger down here.  I suggest that you three return to the Great Hall.  I have a matter to discuss with Miss Granger."

And Hermione, once again, found herself alone with Snape.


	11. I'm taking this down

**A/N This sucks, doesn't it?  I have little planning, poor characterisation, and I've caught up with as far as I'd written with my outline.  I can't write regularly… daily for over a week and then suddenly everything stops.  I know there are few of you out there who will be upset if I stop writing this, which is why I don't have much guilt in doing so.  I _will _come back and rewrite this, and I'll post it again after I have finished – so there will be regular updates and, hopefully, better characterisation (and longer chapters).  I'm sorry to any of you who do care that I'm taking this story down… if you're losing sleep over it (…yeah right) email me and I'll tell you where I had planned on going with this.  Otherwise, expect the story up in a couple of months.  Possibly six or so.  Thanks to all of you who have read so far and refrained from flaming!**


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